


just keep your eyes on me

by Macremae



Category: Wooden Overcoats (Radio)
Genre: Dance lesson, Fluff, Galas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6781150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rudyard didn't even want to be at the party, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just keep your eyes on me

**Author's Note:**

> Why does Wooden Overcoats fanfic always sit in my drafts for ages until I finish it in one night?

It was most definitely because he'd had a little too much to drink.

Certainly, the most logical conclusion. Rudyard didn't even want to be at that awful stuffy gala, but it was for charity, and really, his reputation needed all the help it could get.

And yes, maybe he had taken advantage of the open bar to try and take his mind off of the fact that yet another client had left them, and the fact that Chapman was there as well, chattering up a storm with everyone, and looking unfairly good in a suit.

Which was merely an observation, of course. It wasn't like Rudyard was actually thinking about how his vest made him look like a bloody Adonis, or how his suit made his eyes look even bluer, or how remarkably long his legs were, and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph he was seriously starting to question his sexuality.

Wait, no. Stop thinking like that.

Rudyard skulked in a corner, nursing a glass of brandy and watching Georgie display her newest tattoo to a group of fascinated bigwigs. How the hell did socializing come so naturally to her? And why on earth were people so fascinated with peeling skin? It was absolutely repulsive.

"I had no idea Georgie was a fan of Shakespeare."

Rudyard made a startled noise and turned to see Chapman standing next to him. "Her tattoo," he explained to Rudyard's confused expression, "it's a quote from Hamlet."

“Oh. Er, that’s nice. Good for her.”

  
There was a good, twenty second pause as both men tried to think of something to say.

Rudyard was saved from one of the most awkward conversations in his life by a sudden tapping noise, and the band striking up a slow waltz. A look of delighted recognition spread across Chapman's face. "Is this- oh my God it is!"

"Is what?" Rudyard asked.

"The song I learned to waltz to! At cotillion."

Rudyard blinked in confusion. "What in the name of all creatures great and small is a cotillion?"

"You never went to one?" Chapman asked in surprise. "It's a class that teaches you about formal dress and table manners, and different types of ballroom dance. I went to one when I was little, and they used this song to teach my class the waltz."

"Fascinating." Rudyard replied dryly, now rather used to learning about Things Chapman Could Do That He Couldn't.

"Well, you did learn dances in gym at school, right?"

"The only one I learned was square dancing, and I have tried my very best to forget."

Chapman laughed, before realizing that he was serious. "Wait, really?"

"What kind of school did you go to, an academy for royalty?" Rudyard shot back.

He noticed an odd, panicked look in Chapman's eyes before it disappeared.

"Well," he said, almost nervous, "would you like me to teach you?"

"What?"

"To waltz."

Rudyard was completely floored. His mind went blank, and he rapidly searched for something to say in response.

"Aren't you going to ask Georgie?", was the best he could come up with.

It was Chapman's turn to say, "What? Why would I do that?"

Rudyard gave him a disbelieving look. "Because you've made it repulsively clear you're head over heels for her."

"Oh," he replied, "well, I suppose I would, but it appears she's already got a partner... Hold on, is that-?"

Over on the ballroom floor, Antigone caught the eye of her brother and silently dared him to comment.

"Oh my God," the two men said in unison.

"Why on Earth- what could possibly- wha?" was Rudyard's eloquent opinion. "I thought she'd be all over you!"

"Me, really?" Chapman asked, "Why?"

Rudyard snorted. "Because she's terrible at pretending she's not in love with you."

"Oh." he replied, blushing a bit. It looked rather nice actually.

Rudyard really needed to stop thinking like that.

"Yes, well I'm sure it's just a thing girls do." he said, anxious to distract himself from his highly inappropriate thoughts about where else Chapman's blood could go.

A pause, as this should probably be elaborated on. You see, ever since a certain, touchy incident in which Chapman saved him from prison, learned of all his plots to ruin him, and was still aggravatingly nice and charming anyway, the tiny niggling part of his brain that had been present ever since Rudyard had seen Chapman give him a genuine smile, had grown to an alarming size.

This was strange for two reasons. One: the thoughts it was producing had nothing to do with business as usual (although certain mice working their way through a platter of cream puffs had been awoken one night to be privy to a particularly vocal dream involving the words "please", "more", and "desk"). Two: they were all of the confusing variety that Rudyard usually shoved into a box in his mind labeled "Things To Never Think About", which had been created when he developed his first crush on Roger Akers in seventh grade.

That tiny part of his brain was currently saying that letting his mortal enemy teach him arguably the most romantic dance in the world was a great idea, much to the dismay of the logical section. It gave a valiant try, but was overpowered by the unstoppable forces of dopamine, serotonin, and testosterone.

"I suppose I haven't got anything better to do anyway," Rudyard sighed, setting his brandy down on a nearby table.

Chapman's face lit up. "Great!" he said, and pulled Rudyard out onto the ballroom floor.

"Alright, hold the hand I've got raised," he began, grasping Rudyard's hand and holding it up next to his head, "and put your other on my shoulder."

After he did tentatively did so, Rudyard felt a jolt of something run through him when Chapman gently placed a hand on his waist.

He guided Rudyard in a circular motion, their feet making a kind of looping pattern across the ballroom floor. Rudyard stepped on Chapman’s feet a few times (only once on purpose), but eventually got the hang of it. It was actually kind of… nice.

The first song blended into the next, and then the next, until Georgie somehow got the band to play Uptown Funk, and really, a line had to drawn somewhere.

The brandy (among other drinks) had kicked in at this point, and Rudyard stepped outside to clear the dizziness from his head. Autumn was fast approaching, and the chilly night air helped him realize just what he had been doing, and whom he had been doing it with.

“Oh God.”

“Is something wrong?” Chapman asked from behind him, having followed Rudyard outside.

“Er, nothing, I… just realized I left my desk lamp on.”

Chapman grinned sympathetically, “Hard at work?”

Rudyard shrugged. “Surprised you know anything about it these days.”

“I think there was a compliment in there somewhere. Really though, I’m impressed. You’ve got a lot of resilience.”

Ugh. Well how was he supposed to respond to that?

“And you must be so pleased with that.”

Chapman cocked his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Oh please,” Rudyard snorted, deciding that digging himself deeper into a hole was the best option, “you’ve gone on and on about ‘building your business from the ground up’, yet you’ve never had to really work for customers here at all. Don’t talk to me about resilience.”

Chapman stiffened. “So, you’re saying that if I had any real competition, I wouldn’t be as successful?”

“And you’re saying I’m not real competition?” Rudyard shot back.

“Well, to be perfectly fair-”

“Oh- oh this is so like you, strutting about like you’re the best.”

“Alright, one: I do not strut, if anything, you do. Two: if you're going to say you're better than me, at least have the evidence to back it up!”

“I'll have you know that there's plenty of evidence!”

“Oh really? Name one client you've beaten me out for that wasn't trying to commit tax fraud!”

“I- well at least I wasn't so sickeningly sure of myself that I couldn't imagine anyone else having business that I didn't!”

Chapman sighed angrily. “Y'know, Rudyard, you really don't like to make this easy, do you?”

“Make what easy?”

His eyes widened. “Did- were you deaf and blind for the last half hour?”

 _Oh, he was playing that card_.

“So we danced, stop the presses. What does it matter anyway?”

Something inside Chapman seemed to snap. “What does it ma-? Oh for God’s sakes Rudyard!”

And with that, he leaned down and shoved their lips together.

Several Critical System Error messages seemed to go off in Rudyard’s brain, and he didn't notice that Chapman had pulled away and was now looking quite horrified, until several seconds later.

“Oh God- I- I'm so sorry, I didn't- I wasn't thinking and-”

Rudyard sort of tuned out the bulk of Chapman’s panicked rambling, and stood rather dumbfounded. He gently reached up and touched his lips, as if confirming that the hyperventilating man in front of him had just recently been kissing them.

Several things suddenly fell into place at that moment, and Rudyard made a decision.

“-and I was just really angry and my mind was completely not working right and I-”

“Chapman?”

“Y- yes?”

“Do shut up.”

Chapman let out a little squeak as Rudyard grabbed him by his tie and pulled him down into a kiss. He tasted like insanely expensive champagne and vanilla icing, and, once his brain caught up with the rest of the world, slid his tongue along Rudyard’s bottom lip and started doing a lot of things with it that were probably illegal in some provinces.

Chapman slid his arms around Rudyard’s waist, and tilted his head to deepen this kiss. Neither could stop from grinning a little bit.

Antigone, Georgie and Madeline were sharing a plate of hors devours when they looked outside to see two familiar figures going at it like teenagers.

“Sweet Jesus,” Antigone said, glad that she and Georgie were never that indecent.

“It's about bloody time,” her girlfriend agreed.

Madeline was too busy writing furiously to comment.

 


End file.
